


I Hear Zimbabwe's Nice This Time of Year

by iamremy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is a Failwolf, Derek is shit at proposals, Everyone sucks, Fluff, Humor, M/M, and a lot of awkwardness, i'm shit at tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 14:15:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1269481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/iamremy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thinking that Stiles' friends can help him figure out a way to propose to him is probably the worst idea that Derek's ever had.</p><p>Featuring confused and annoyed Derek, confused and upset Stiles, useless Scott, even more useless Isaac, snarky Peter, unhelpful Lydia and a <em>very</em> awkward conversation with Chris Argent. The twins make a cameo where they stand around and wonder what the hell is going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Hear Zimbabwe's Nice This Time of Year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agent_izhyper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_izhyper/gifts), [xxDodo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxDodo/gifts).



> Okay guys, this is my first TW fic, so I'm a bit worried about the characterization and stuff, so feedback is welcome :)
> 
> This is dedicated to Iz, Dodo and Sheza because these three got me addicted to TW and now I'm suffering but I'm happy-ish. Also, the Sterek is worth it.

Derek's not a sentimental person. Literally anyone in Beacon Hills will tell you that. Hugging and kissing and being emotional aren't his thing. Like, at all.

But Stiles is. Stiles _is_ his Thing and has been for a long time, even before either were aware of the existence of such a Thing. And Derek doesn't like to say it out loud, but this thing is his favorite Thing, and he wants it to go on forever.

Of course, there's only one way he can ensure that, but he's not sure how to go about it. It's not like he's ever done this before.

He's got the ring already, safely stowed away in the glove compartment of his Camaro. He's got the entire thing planned to the last detail with an almost obsessive kind of enthusiasm, and everything's ready. The only little thing left is asking Stiles.

Which. About that. He's not sure how to do.

He spends week agonizing over it, wondering whether or not a Grand Gesture is required, or whether Stiles prefers Something Simple. Of course, neither of them would know, would they? It's Stiles' first and only _real_ relationship. And any relationship that Derek's had before – it couldn't ever compare to his Thing with Stiles.

It hits him in the middle of the night, as he lies in bed and stares at the ceiling and wonders what to do. It's not going to be easy, but at this point it's all he's got left.

He's going to have to ask someone else.

* * *

The first person he goes to is Scott.

“So, listen,” he begins, sitting on the edge of Scott's bed, “I need your help.”

“Okaaaay,” says Scott, drawing out the first syllable. He hasn't missed how unusually tense Derek is – or how awkward. Before he can say anything else his phone beeps and he grins. “Hang on a minute,” he tells Derek, and picks it up.

He reads the text with a goofy smile ( _Allison_ , Derek thinks with a roll of his eyes, before it occurs to him that this is probably exactly how he looks when Stiles texts), and then replies back, his fingers a blur over the touchscreen. Then he turns back to Derek and says, “I'm sorry, you were saying?”

“I need your help,” repeats Derek. “It's about Stiles.”

Scott frowns. “Is he all right?”

“Yes yes, he's fine. Actually – I've been wanting to do something, and I don't understand how.” He looks at Scott, hoping he gets it.

Scott just looks confused.

“What?” he asks. “What have you been wanting to do?”

Derek scowls a little, wishing he doesn't have to say this. “Well, you know we've been going serious for some time now,” he begins, hating his life. “And, well.” He stops when he notices Scott's claws are out.

“Are you breaking up with him?” he asks, voice dangerously low. If there is ever a time in his life where Derek is going to be scared of Scott, it's now.

“What – _no!_ ” he exclaims hastily. “First of all, do I look idiotic enough to break up with Stiles? Secondly – if I was, _which I'm not_ , would I come to _you_ about it?”

Scott visibly relaxes, and his claws retract. “Good,” he says emphatically. “You just spared yourself an impromptu castration.”

Derek opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it and gracefully (or so he hopes) backs down. “I'll keep that in mind,” he says, and then asks, somewhat irritably, “Can I go on now?”

“Yes, sorry,” Scott says, not sounding sorry at all. His phone rings again, and with another grin he picks up and checks the text. Derek rolls his eyes again.

“As I was _saying_ ,” Derek says pointedly when Scott puts his phone down again, “we've been going serious for a while now, and I was thinking... I want to keep him around,” he finishes, and the awkwardness is back.

“Ooookay,” says Scott, this time drawing the second syllable out. “So just go and tell him that.”

Derek rolls his eyes a third time. “I can't just _do_ that,” he explains, like he's speaking to a particularly slow 2-year-old. “It's not the kind of thing you just _say_.” He glares pointedly.

Understanding dawns on Scott's face a few seconds later, and he grins at Derek. “You want to ask him to move in with you,” he says, like he's found the answers to every question ever.

“No,” groans Derek. “Think a bit more ahead.”

Scott thinks some more, and then says, “Okay, so you want to marry him?”

“ _Yes!”_ Derek says. “Finally! _Yes_ , you idiot, I want to marry him but I don't know how to ask him! You're his best friend! Do something!”

“Like what?” asks Scott, now a bit confused. “What do you expect _me_ to do?”

“You asked Allison some time ago,” Derek reminds him. “Give me pointers.” He somehow makes it sound like an order rather than a request.

“I don't know, man,” is Scott's response. “I just did the traditional thing and got down on one knee.”

“That's not good enough,” declares Derek. “It has to be something... different. Something memorable.”

Scott snorts. “A proposal of any kind is memorable, you know.”

“You're not helping,” grumbles Derek. “This isn't useful to me at all.”

Scott shrugs. “Man, I'm not good at this kind of thing. I just did it traditionally. You should ask Lydia or someone.”

Derek stands. “Okay, then,” he says, and puts his jacket back on. “Thanks for nothing, Scott.”

Scott doesn't bother replying – Allison has just texted again. Muttering something under his breath about lovestruck idiots (the irony escapes him), Derek makes his exit.

* * *

“Why are you here?” is Lydia's first question when she opens the door to find Derek on her porch.

“I need your help,” begins Derek, but she's already cut him off.

“Get inside,” she orders, and steps aside. A bit at a loss when it comes to dealing with _others_ ordering him around, Derek obeys. She takes him up to her room and then plops down on her bed. “What do you want?” she asks.

Derek steels himself. “I want to marry Stiles.” Thankfully (and surprisingly), it's a lot easier to say after the first time.

“Okay, good for you,” Lydia says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. She'd been reading – Derek spots a gigantic science-y tome upturned on her bed. “Why should I care?”

“He had a crush on you for years,” Derek points out grudgingly (no he's not jealous, what are you talking about. Derek Hale doesn't do jealousy. Jealousy is for lesser men. Wolves. Whatever.). “You probably know something.”

“That depends,” Lydia tells him. “What do you want me to do?” She says it like a challenge, not an offer for help, and Derek considers backing off. But he's a _werewolf_ , and she's _human_ , and he refuses to be daunted.

“How do I ask him?” he says. “And don't tell me to get down on one knee,” he adds.

“Oh, please,” she scoffs. “I'm not that boring. Do something special.”

“Like what?” he asks. “If I knew what to do I wouldn't be asking you, would I?”

She gives him a look that plainly tells him that if he keeps up that tone of voice he's going to suffer. If it came from someone else Derek would have laughed, but the way Lydia does it makes him a little nervous. And scared. Not that he's ever going to admit it out loud. Pride, and all that.

She shrugs, infuriatingly enough. “You know him better than I do. Think of something that is good enough. Do it.” She says it like it's the simplest thing in the world.

“Fucking hell,” growls Derek under his breath, and stands to leave. She smiles sweetly at him, as if she's perfectly aware of how _not_ useful her advice is. Derek thinks he hates her a lot.

* * *

The third person is Isaac.

Derek's not too happy about the second visit to the McCall place, but he's decided to suck it up. Some things are more important. Like getting good advice for one.

Somehow, he doesn't think this is it.

He's proved correct when he walks in to find Scott and Isaac playing video games, taking up all the space in the living room with the amount of maneuvring they're attempting to do (Derek wants to remind them it's just a game and they're not actually in a car chase, but he doesn't think they can hear him right now).

“Isaac,” he says loudly, trying to be heard over the sound of the game. “I need your help.”

“WHO'S DYING?” yells Isaac, and Derek winces at the volume.

“No one's dying,” he informs him. “I want to marry Stiles and I don't know how.” He hates this part, where he has to admit his intentions and give in to the fact that there's something he doesn't know. In fact, he hates Scott, Lydia and this entire situation.

He also hates Peter, and the twins, but that's a different story.

“What do you mean you don't know how?” They've paused the game and thankfully muted it, and Derek's glad to see Isaac's full attention is now on him. “Just ask him. I'm sure he'll say yes.”

The game reloads, and Derek says, “Yes, that's excellent advice, Isaac. _Except that that's what I wanted to ask_.”

“Oh yeah, Scott mentioned it,” Isaac remembers. “He only vaguely recalls something about marriage.”

“Yeah, he was too busy texting Allison.”

“I'm right here!” exclaims Scott. “I can hear you!”

Derek shoots him a dirty look and then turns back to Isaac. “So, are you going to help me or not?”

“BITCH!” yells Scott suddenly, and Derek jumps. “DID YOU JUST FUCKING BLUE-SHELL ME?”

Isaac grins. “FUCK YEAH, MOTHERFUCKER!”

“Isaac,” tries Derek, but is cut off by Scott.

“I'M GOING TO FUCKING MAKE YOU PAY, YOU ASSHOLE!”

“BRING IT ON, WEREPUSSY!”

Derek groans and considers smashing their heads together, but it's probably not a good idea. It wouldn't make a difference, in any case. He just silently gets up and leaves, and on the way he discreetly leaves three distinct scratches on Scott's beloved bike.

* * *

His next (and last) hope is Allison.

Which would have worked, only – it's Chris who answers the door.

“Derek.” He looks surprised. He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, regarding Derek with a casual yet wary manner.

“Is Allison home?” asks Derek, and shifts uneasily. Parents still freak him out.

“She's out with Lydia,” Chris informs him, and his eyes narrow slightly. Derek and Allison are not exactly friends at the best of times. “Can I help you?”

Derek fidgets (this entire business has turned him into a nervous wreck, he's going to be so glad when it's over) and says, hating how unsure he sounds, “I just wanted to talk to her about something, that's all.”

Chris unfolds his arms. “Okay, then. I'll tell her you came by.” He's just about to go back in when Derek blurts, “Wait!”

“What is it?”

“I'll just ask you,” Derek decides, and shoves his hands into his pockets. “I need your help,” he declares.

“Okay, who do we have to kill this time?” asks Chris.

“No one,” mutters Derek. “Why does everyone think that?”

Chris raises an eyebrow. “Probably because every time you ask for someone's help, it involves killing, maiming and all manner of illegal things.”

“What's your point?”

Chris sighs. “Never mind. What do you want?”

“How do you ask someone to marry you?” inquires Derek, trying and failing to sound casual. Rather, he sounds like there's a horde of angry butterflies stuck in his throat.

The hunter looks a bit perplexed. “Why are you asking _me_?”

It's Derek's turn to sigh. “Because I hate everyone and you seem to be a semi-reasonable man who'll give me a straight answer.”

Chris seems to accept this explanation. “Okay. Well. When I asked Victoria I did an entire grand gesture thing. I took her out to dinner, and I asked the waiter to slip the ring into her drink–”

“Won't work,” Derek decides, cutting off the hunter's reminiscing. “Knowing Stiles, he'll probably choke on the ring and die.”

“Probably,” conceded Chris. “Not a good idea.”

“Definitely not,” agrees Derek. He shifts awkwardly when he realizes the conversation is over. “Uh – thank you. I guess.”

Chris nods, and Derek leaves without wasting any more time.

* * *

His last resort (and by that, he means  _If I had to I would rather chop off my own fingers one by one_ ) is dear Uncle Peter.

Whose response, when Derek explains the situation, is to collapse into hysterical giggles. “Kid, you're precious,” he informs Derek.

“Not helping,” snaps Derek irritably. “Either give me something useful or get the hell out of my sight.”

“Touchy, touchy,” sighs Peter dramatically. “Well, you're asking the wrong person. “I don't do this kind of thing. And I sure as hell don't know how.”

“You're a useless asshole,” Derek informs Peter. “If the entire pack was a metaphorical wolf, you would be a literal asshole.” He thinks perhaps Stiles's colorful language is wearing off on him.

“And you'd be the dick,” is Peter's response. “A tiny, two-inch, erectile dysfunction kind of dick.”

Derek wonders why he even bothered.

* * *

He spends the next week avoiding everyone (including Stiles), trying to figure out what to do. The pack drops by a couple of times, but leaves when he ignores them. He blows Stiles off with flimsy excuses and cancels every date they had, and he can tell that everyone is becoming fed up with him. He knows he's acting stupid, but unless he's found something he's not going to talk to _anyone_.

They're all useless anyway.

He briefly considers asking Sheriff Stilinski for advice, but just the horror and humiliation involved is enough for him to discard that thought the moment it's formed. That, and the fact that he quite values his life, and it hasn't escaped him how close to the Sheriff's hand his gun is. Even though the man has warmed up considerably towards Derek, he's still going to put Stiles above everything, the the moment he gets a whiff that something's not right he's going to go straight at Derek.

Which is probably not going to end well for Derek.

Eventually, his mind working overtime but not actually coming up with anything, Derek resorts to moping and sulking and looking up cat pictures and memes on the internet. _Stiles's fault_ , he thinks as he browses. _All of this is Stiles's fault because he got me addicted to lolcats and memes and he got me to fall in love with his stupid self and I can't even man the fuck up and–_

His personal tirade is interrupted when he finds a particularly adorable cat video.

The world can wait. This motherfuckin cat can fucking _dance_ , bitches.

* * *

Things come to a head at the next pack meeting.

Or technically, intervention.

For once there is nothing and no one trying to kill them/maim them/kidnap them/sacrifice them in pagan rituals/do other equally horrendous shit, so when the entire pack shows up at his door Derek is a bit at a loss for words.

Especially because they all look like they're going to kill him.

“Um, hello?” isn't a good way to try to appease a bunch of angry werewolves, Derek then discovers. Who knew.

They force their way inside and stomp their collective way off to Derek's couch, where they settle down and then continue glaring at Derek. It's unnerving. “What did I do?” he finally asks.

Instead of replying, everyone just inclines their heads in Stiles's direction, and for the first time since the angry ~~mob~~ pack entered, Derek notices the kid. Huddled between Scott and Isaac, he looks like someone's been killing kittens and forcing him to watch. For the first time since he's become a recluse, Derek realizes that his absence might have given Stiles the wrong impression.

And that was putting it lightly.

“Do you have an explanation for why my best friend looks like the world is ending?” hisses Scott, and if Derek thought he was scary before, that's nothing compared to now.

“He's been moping the entire week,” puts in Isaac. “It's like seeing someone kick a puppy. What the hell, man?”

Even the fucking twins are here, but Derek's too busy feeling guilty to try killing them. They're doing their bit by standing behind Stiles like they're his bodyguards, arms folded and glaring at Derek. “What the hell are you two doing here?” he asks them.

One of them – he honestly cannot tell which – bares his teeth, and Derek groans internally. _Of course_ they're here for Stiles. Only Stiles Stilinski, Awkward and Annoying But Somehow Adorable Human Being, can convert two murderous ex-Alphas into his own personal bodyguards. All by being Awkward and Annoying But Somehow Adorable.

Choosing to dwell on this later, Derek turns to the last wolf in the room, apart from himself. “You?” he barks at Peter, who shrugs.

“I came for the entertainment.” At Derek's glare he adds, “And also because the kid's being too quiet these days. It's not natural and it's messing with my mind. It's like someone died.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Stiles asks suddenly, and everyone shuts up. “Because if I did, I'm sorry and everything but you should totally tell me, you know. Not nice to leave me hanging for a _week_. And you cancelled Movie Night and Pizza Night and even Dad's Funky Lasagna Night. One does not simply bail out on _three_ traditions in a week, Derek. It's not _cool_. Not a nice thing to do. I thought we were done with your uncommunicative emo phase–”

“What he means is,” Scott cuts him off, ignoring his petulant glare, “are you breaking up with him?” He not-so-subtly extends his claws, and Derek suddenly feels overprotective about his nether regions.

“I'm not breaking up with him, I told you that,” he reminds Scott, internally frantic. Stiles is sitting there looking annoyed and upset but he's also got his bottom lip slightly stuck out and he's biting it and there is a siren in Derek's head screaming _FIX ALL THE SHIT YOU IDIOT_ while a bunch of angry werewolves glare at him.

“Then _why_ ,” asks Isaac, in a tone people normally reserve for idiots and children (and Derek wonders when his pack got so... bold? Insubordinate? Protective over Stiles?), “have you cut off all communication for a week? And ignored Stiles?”

“I've been working on something,” Derek admits. “I wanted to figure it out on my own because,” and now it's his turn to glare at people, “ _no one was being helpful_.”

The sight of realization dawning on everyone's faces (except for Stiles and the twins, who mercifully have been left out of the loop) is comical, except that Derek does not much feel like appreciating it right now. His ears have gone warm and he just _knows_ they're bright red, and his impatience with his idiotic and impossibly slow pack is spiking. That, and Stiles still looks miserable and like Peter said, entirely too silent.

Scott is the first one to laugh. Derek takes a moment to reflect on how bold he's become, especially after ascending to Alpha. It's irritating because Scott's not afraid to push all of Derek's buttons now. Not that he was before, but he usually refrained out of a grudging respect for his Alpha. Now... not so much.

Derek really hates his life sometimes.

Isaac joins Scott a second later, and then Peter. Stiles and the twins watch in bewilderment at three grown men cackling like lunatics, while Derek mentally debates the pros and cons of murdering everyone, grabbing Stiles and fleeing to a remote country where they won't be pursued or disturbed by idiots.

He hears Zimbabwe's nice, this time of year.

“What's going on?” one of the twins asks (Derek thinks this is the one who can't keep his hands off Danny).

“I have no idea,” the other one responds (this one would be Lydia's, then).

“Why are you laughing?” demands Stiles loudly, looking from Scott to Isaac to Peter, and then back again. “It's _not_ funny! Not at all funny! Even a little bit! My love life is crumbling before my eyes, and you're _laughing_! I'll be single for the rest of my life! I'll become a crazy cat person destined to die alone and covered in hairballs, and _you're laughing!_ You guys are truly shitty friends and I hope you all have explosive, violent diarrhea for a _month–”_

“Oh, for the love of–” Derek's had enough. He strides over to Stiles, grabs his shoulders, and all but yells, “I am _not_ breaking up with you, you colossal idiot.”

Stiles blinks. “Oh, okay then,” he says a moment later, clearly relieved. “That's good to know. See? _Communication._ That's the key.” He grins happily at Derek.

“Derek, you suck,” Scott tells him, exaggeratedly wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “You spent a _week_ trying to figure out how to–”

“And you still haven't got it, have you?” Isaac asks, grinning. His entire face is red from exertion, and if Derek wasn't preoccupied he would have liked to punch it. And Scott. And Peter.

Especially Peter. Just because.

“Wait wait wait – figure out what?” asks Stiles loudly, trying to be heard over all the hysterics going on. “Guys, _what's going on?”_

“Wait till you hear this, it's priceless,” Scott tells him, at the same time as Peter begins making crude hand gestures in Derek's direction that have him rolling his eyes and trying to glare at the same time. It's hard business, dealing with a crazy uncle.

“Derek, what's going on?” Stiles asks again, clearly irritated at not having gotten a clear answer from anyone. “What have you been trying to figure out? And I swear if I don't get a straight answer I'm going to hurt your car.”

Even the twins are watching him expectantly now. “I've been trying to ask you something for some time now,” Derek begins awkwardly, hating everyone around him more than ever, “and I didn't know how so I thought I'd ask these idiots for help,” he gestures at the pack, “only they suck. And so I tried to figure it out on my own.”

“Okay, what is it?” inquires Stiles, crossing his arms.

At Derek's somewhat constipated expression, Scott and Isaac dissolve into laughter again. Peter has his cell phone out and is recording the entire thing, and absently Derek thinks he's going to have to destroy that sometime in the near future. The twins are just staring dumbly and wondering why they ever thought it would be a good idea to join this pack.

“Oh for God's sake,” Derek finally bursts out, irritated beyond belief. “I was going to ask you to marry me but I couldn't think how and I asked these fuckers and they were of no help because they _suck_ and–” He shuts up, horrified, when he realizes what he's said.

Stiles has uncrossed his arms and is just staring at him with his mouth slightly open, and Derek has absolutely no idea what this means. There's nervous energy building up inside him, his heart is going a mile a minute and he's pretty sure this is what hell must be like – anticipation and tension and shitty friends, all rolled into a nice furry little package.

It takes him a moment to register Stiles' reaction. The kid's shoulders are shaking, and he's got his hand covering his face, and Derek has to look closer to realize that he's not, in fact, crying as it looks like he is.

“Are you _laughing_ at me?” he demands, incredulous.

Stiles looks up, face flushed. “That,” he informs Derek, “was the worst proposal ever. Truly horrible and not well thought out at all.” But he's still grinning widely, and Derek feels a bit of hope.

“So,” he prompts, hoping he doesn't look like a complete idiot and also knowing he does.

“Yes, you moron,” Stiles tells him. “You're lucky I love you.”

Derek actually collapses onto the nearest couch in ill-disguised relief. “Thank God,” he says fervently. “This past week has been absolute _hell_.”

Stiles sits down next to him and kisses his cheek. “It's your own fault, because you're stupid,” he informs him. “Also I really hope you can afford someplace nice because we're _not_ honeymooning in Texas or something.”

That earns him an eyeroll. Scott and Isaac have thankfully stopped laughing – now they've joined Peter and the three of them are replaying the video Peter's just recorded. The twins look lost, and no one's paying them any attention anyway.

“Are we invited to the wedding?” Lydia's twin asks, more to remind the others of their presence than anything else. They'd arrived hoping for a good fight, and had instead witnessed grown men acting like children and an emotionally illiterate werewolf proposing to his significant other.

“Go make out with Danny or something,” is Derek's dismissive reply from where he's cuddling with Stiles.

“Wrong twin,” mumbles Aiden, but turns to leave anyway. Ethan snaps a picture of the cuddling (it's going to make excellent blackmail material) and then follows his brother out the door.

* * *

Stiles chokes on his fries in disbelief when, three days after the intervention fiasco, Peter chucks a bottle of Viagra at Derek's head. Derek pretends it never happened. Stiles isn't sure he wants to know.

They proceed to have an argument about the merits of Zimbabwe over Texas.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Remember, feedback is appreciated :) and while you're at it, my tumblr is [here](http://joeremy-renner.tumblr.com), so if you're interested in numerous reblogs, sporadic bursts of original (and somewhat sucky) art and me bitching about random things, hit me up.
> 
> And go check out Iz's work. She's awesome. So awesome that there aren't even words.
> 
> And Dodo. Dodo is epic and very not extinct, thanks a lot.


End file.
